


Peach Blossom

by Daephraelle



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Light Bondage, M/M, Oral Sex, Sexual Tension, Smut, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 05:21:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2012514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daephraelle/pseuds/Daephraelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A night out at the Vanilla Unicorn and Michael's insisting on his heterosexuality to Trevor, who seems disinclined to agree with him. When Michael demonstrates by going for a lap dance with one of the girls, Trevor takes things into his own hands, without really thinking of the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peach Blossom

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted mostly by Michael's dialogue when getting a lap dance with a stripper: "Mmm, peach body oil - best smell in the world."  
> Also I'm sorry! This was supposed to be just random smut, but then there were EMOTIONS and a smidgen of PLOT and I'm sorry for my inability to write PWP, dammit!

_...Wanna see me lose my breath, wanna hear me moan. Better be ready, will and able when we get along. You was talking tough up on in the telephone, so you better put it in when we get it on..._

Michael leant forward, his arms pressed against the warm, sticky metal of the railing. The girl on the pole before him was as disinterested as a girl could be, but hell if she couldn’t stretch and contort like a fucking gymnast. He flicked a few dollars at her and she lazily spun around the pole once, twice in response.

“Damn, girl that don’t leave _nothin’_ to the imagination!” Franklin admired from Michael’s right as he looked a blond serving girl up and down. Michael smirked and leant over to grab a whiskey from her tray.

“I’m pretty sure that’s kinda the point, Frank,” he replied.

“Well that’s true, I guess. I was just impressed at how she manages to get it ta stay on,”

Michael smirked and took a sip of his whiskey – the kid still had that edge of enthusiasm, untainted by the crapfest that was the world. He looked around at the Unicorn, scanning the crowd of near-naked women and cringe-worthy men for the third member of their fucked up trio.

“Hey, Frank you seen Trevor around?”

Franklin barely glanced away from the stage. “Nah, man I ain’t seen him for ages. Maybe he gone with one of the girls into the back room or something,”

“Yeah, maybe,” Michael replied uneasily. It wasn’t as though he was Trevor’s keeper, and there were plenty of times in their long history that his best friend had gone AWOL while they were out getting pissed, or looking for a bit of warm companionship on a cold fucking night in Yankton. The problem was that now – as friendly as they had managed to become after airing all their dirty fucking laundry – Trevor was still an unpredictable mess of rage and insecurities. Gone was Michael’s surety that he could read Trevor, gone was the effortless way he used to know his friend’s moods and triggers, what every little crinkle on his face and tensing of his muscles meant.

Now, the idea of Trevor stalking around the Vanilla Unicorn, getting progressively drunker as the evening wore on worried him.

Franklin seemed to notice his discomfort as Michael continued to search the room, whiskey glass gripped tight in his hand. “Man, what you worried about? T spends more time here than we do, at least when he’s in LS. I don’t think we gotta worry about him going all psycho and killing a stripper or nothin’,”

The two girls that were nearby shot Franklin alarmed looks and moved hastily towards the bar, where a group of guys that looked as though they’d arrived in town that day on a tourist bus were hovering. Franklin didn’t even notice them leave, his eyes already sliding back to the bored stripper winding her way around the pole.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Michael agreed half-heartedly, staring at the girl as well, without really seeing her. He settled back at the railing and tried to focus on bare skin and breasts, but every so often Franklin caught him watching the room instead.

 

*********************

 

“I am very drunk,” Michael remarked to no one in particular.

“Why... why you tellin’ the table that you drunk?” slurred Franklin from where he was sprawled in a chair.

Michael shrugged and staggered towards the bathroom, waving an uncoordinated, dismissive hand at Franklin as he passed.

The men’s room was as horrible as it had always been, but Michael had just enough of a buzz going that he barely noticed it. As he stepped up to the urinal, the bathroom door slammed open behind him.

“Gotten laid yet, sugar tits?”

Michael groaned as Trevor stepped up next to him, pulling himself out of his grey sweats as unselfconsciously as ever. “Trevor where’ve you been,”

“I had things to do, Mikey people to threaten. It’s all taken care of though, so _now_ I am going to go and stare at women with low self-esteem until I am _riddled_ with self-loathing,”

“Waaay ahead of you there, buddy,” replied Michael. “I hate myself so much I’m amazed that I manage to leave the house some days,”

“Ugh! Mikey, I keep telling you; you gotta _tuuurn_ that hatred out on the world and use it to fuck over your enemies!”

Michael finished and stumbled over to the sinks, Trevor following closely behind him.

“‘Cept we don’t _have_ any more enemies, T – we killed ‘em all,”

“Plenty of assholes still out there that need taking down a peg or two, Michael. Just say the word and we’ll go find some,”

Michael shook his hands dry. “I am _not_ going cruising for a fight with you, Trevor. I am going back in there, finding some girl who is more than half my age and I am going to watch her give me a lap dance and try to forget that I am a forty-five year old married man with two children and more money than I know what do with,”

“That is only because you have no imagination, my friend,” replied Trevor. “I can think of _a lot_ you could do with all that money,”

He waggled his eyebrows at Michael, and Michael shook his head in reply. “Come on. Let’s go find Franklin and ignore the looming regret that’s waiting for us tomorrow morning,”

They wandered out of the bathroom and back into the throbbing noise of the club. “I don’t believe in regret, cupcake. You can’t stand what you did in the cold light of day; you better stay the fuck indoors at night,”

Michael spied Franklin exactly where he had left him and headed over. “Yeah, Trevor I am real aware of your ‘burn down the town, laugh manically, move on to the next town’ attitude,”

Trevor grunted, his face almost petulant, and strode over to Franklin.

“Franklin! My homie! Please tell me this pathetic sack of shit hasn’t been regaling you with his depressing stories of _regret_ , and _failure_ , and... fucking... woe-is-me, bullshit sob stories?”

Franklin blinked owlishly up at Trevor. “Nah man, he just kept asking where you was,”

“Hey, I asked once,” said Michael, jabbing a single finger in the air for emphasis.

Trevor turned to face Michael, one dark eyebrow cocked quizzically. “Asking where I was, huh? What’s the matter, sugar tits, can’t find your cock without me?”

Michael’s lips thinned. “I can find my own just fine – _you_ were the cock that none of us could locate,”

Trevor smiled brightly, disarmingly, but in the darkness his face was shark-like – all teeth and black eyes. “Well I’m here now, Mikey boy so let’s grab some fucking drinks and see if you really can,”

“Can what?” Franklin asked, confused.

Michael just stared at the still smiling Trevor. “Find my own cock, presumably,”

“Haha!” exclaimed Trevor. “Well, it’s assuming that your slutty ex-pro of a wife hasn’t cut it off,”

Michael stepped up until he was almost chest to chest with Trevor, his eyes full of anger and exasperation.

“T, you’re my oldest friend and as such I’m socially obliged to love you, but if you mention Mandy like that one more time tonight, I swear I’m gonna rip off your arm and beat you to death with it,”

Trevor bared his teeth, his eyes sparkling. “Trouble of the home front, Mikey? I’d never have guessed,”

“Damn, you two!” Franklin half-successfully straightened in his seat. “I thought you was over all this petty fighting bull _shit_. You forgave each other, why can’t you just get the fuck _along_?”

“This _is_ us gettin’ along, kid,” Michael retorted, with a wry smile. “You shoulda seen us back in the day – there were moments when we damn near killed each other,”

Something dangerously close to nostalgia swept across Michael’s face.

“Best time of my life, brother,” replied Trevor – solemn and serious, his gaze all for Michael.

“You would say that,” retorted Michael, his face clearing. “Now sit the fuck down and I’ll go grab us some beers,”

 

*********************

 

The night kept spinning on from there, Michael and Trevor toeing the line between drunk and wasted with the skill of long practice. Franklin on the other hand was imbibing as only the young could – with no though for tomorrow. Michael envied him a little, if he were honest. All that energy and potential – a future waiting for him... Not like him and Trevor – scarred and battered from twenty-five years of violence, hard-living and the mentality that came with both. Even Trevor would have to slow down eventually, whether he wanted to or not. A ‘biological certainty’, his high school science teacher would have said. Trevor could...

Trevor...

...Trevor was standing across from him – the stage and a stripper between them, with his eyes fixed on Michael and the neck of his beer resting against his bottom lip.

Michael met his gaze and quirked an eyebrow at him in question. In response Trevor smiled slowly, open-mouthed before taking a swig of his beer and focusing his attention back on the stage. Michael looked down, staring at his own slowly warming drink and tried not to think of the last time he’d seen that look in Trevor’s eyes.

 _One of the dangers of reconciliation I hadn’t considered_ , he thought to himself. It had been so much easier when Trevor had hated every inch of him. Still, Michael wasn’t any better – he could just ignore it, just let it slide, instead of dragging his sorry ass away from the rail and over to his friend in order to poke at the wound.

“T,”

“Michael,” Trevor kept his eyes glued to the stripper as she flipped upside down, her red hair fanning out beneath her.

Michael rested his drink against the railing, the charcoal grey of his suit sleeve almost pressed against Trevor’s tattooed arm. They watched the show in companionable silence until the girl finally finished, sweeping past them as she headed offstage.

“Mmm, the smell of peach body oil – best smell in the world!” Michael remarked.

“Peach, huh?” replied Trevor, his attention fixed on nothing in particular. “You ah, get aroused by stone fruit often?”

“Well, when it’s spread all over the body of a smoking hot stripper... yeah. Yeah, it is arousing, Trevor,”

Trevor took another long pull of his drink and pushed himself away from the railing. “Well, you got a type, that’s for sure,”

“Damn straight I got a type! Give me soft curves and sweet-smellin’ hair and I’m a happy man!” He spread his arms wide, casting an arc of beer from his bottle as he did so.

“Uhuh,” Trevor flicked a glance at Michael and his shit-eating grin. “So, uh... Why don’t you grab the lovely Miss Peach Blossom and go enjoy those ‘soft curves’?”

Michael’s arms faded slowly to his sides and his grin dimmed a little. “Yeah... Yeah, maybe I will,” He looked around. “Do you see her anywhere?”

Trevor cast his eyes negligently across the room and slung a pointed arm at the door to the back stage area. “There she is, cupcake. I’m sure she’s just _dying_ for some fat, drunken lech to run his big fucking hands all over her,”

“Ah, bite me,” Michael retorted as he moved away from Trevor.

Trevor rested his beer bottle against his lip and smiled.

 

*********************

 

“Hey baby, you want a private show?” The girl was smiling in that well-worn way that most of the girls had perfected. Trevor could see Michael smile back in that irritating, self-deprecating way that _he_ had.

“Sure sugar, lead the way,” She took his hand and led him through the partition towards one of the private rooms, and Trevor followed at a cautious distance until he reached the curtain. He watched for a moment, one hand fisted in the cheap velvet, before turning around and calling out to the ash-blond woman that was currently leaning over the slack, smiling form of Franklin.

“Hey... Hey, Sapphire,”

Sapphire looked up when she recognised her boss’ voice. “Yes, Mr Philips?”

Trevor leant in and spoke quickly and perhaps a little too intensely in her ear before shooing her towards the partition.

“And bring me a fucking bottle of that peach body oil!”

 

*********************

 

She came towards him, all honeyed smiles and fiery hair, a black satin scarf twined around her hands. Michael tried to forget the reasons he was doing this, along with the self-conjured image of Trevor, standing stubborn and angry by the stage.

Another girl swayed past Red, circling the chair and pulling Michael’s hands behind his back, binding them together with a soft, thick rope.

“Hey, this is different,” he murmured as Red wrapped the satin scarf across his eyes, plunging him into darkness and tying it tight against his head. “Not that I’m complaining, sweetie, I’d just love to know the play,”

There was a giggle from somewhere in front of him and Michael craned forward, tensing his arms against the restraints. “This is a special dance for you, Mr De Santa...”

“Michael, please,” he replied.

“...So all you have to do is sit back and... enjoy my attentions...”

Michael could hear shuffled movement and the coming and going of footsteps, until then there was only the repetitive beat of the music and the sound of steady breath ghosting past his ear.

“Sooo... I just sit here while you—” A hand ran down the lapel of his jacket and pulled strongly at his belt, canting hips up until he had to hold himself steady on his bound fists.

“Ooof,” The hand let his belt go and Michael fell back into the padded chair. A moment later, two hands were pulling at his jacket, ripping it open and off his shoulders until the fabric became another form of bondage against his arms. With his hands and shoulders pulled behind his back, the expanse of his torso was arched open and forward, and Michael could feel the buttons on his white shirt straining against his chest.

Red must have noticed too, as Michael felt a finger slowly slide down the centre of his shirt, undoing each button as it ran down the line. The hands opened the fabric like a curtain before they came to rest, flat against his upper chest.

“Heh, I don’t remember your hands being that big,” Michael joked, trying to distract himself from the thrill he felt at having two warm, human hands pressing against his skin as though they actually wanted to be there.

The hands in response, pressed harder before dragging nails across the coarse hair of his chest and alighting on his nipples, the fingers dancing around them until Michael let out a shaky breath. “They’re kinda... a sensitive spot for me, honey so be gentle, huh?”

A playful tweak of one nipple was all the response he got.

Michael rolled his head back, the absence of sight guiding his senses towards what he could hear and smell.

“Mmmh, peaches. I do love that smell,”

The hands froze and then were suddenly gone, but before Michael could protest their absence there was the sudden presence of a _body_ so close to his own that he swore he could feel the heat of it soaking into his own skin. The smell of the body oil was stronger now – like a slutty orchard in July and Michael had to fight the urge to lean forward and lick her skin.

He could feel the body in front of him brace its arms on the sides of his chair, as one knee shoved between his legs, pushing them open.

“Are you wearing pants?” Michael asked, puzzled, but when he felt Red drop to her knees, arms coming away from the chair and expertly undoing his belt instead, Michael’s world narrowed down to the feel of her pressed between him.

His belt was loose, his fly undone and a hand was snaking into his boxers while the other pressed up against his bare chest, fingers curling through the hair.

“Whoa, what about the bouncers? I’m not really the type for public sex acts, ain’t they watching?”

The hand on his chest grabbed him by the jaw and shook his head slowly from side to side before trailing its way down Michael’s neck, fingers wrapping around and pressing _juuust_ enough to send a thrill down his spine and a bound hand twitching towards where his pistol would have been.

The hand hovered for a moment, like a flash of hesitation, before it coasted back down to Michael’s chest. Both he and the stripper’s attentions returned to his boxer shorts when she found him warm and heavy, wrapping her hand around the length of him. She stroked him gently but insistently, until even undone his pants began to feel too tight.

The hand moved slowly at first, but with purpose and no small amount of skill, the slickness of what Michael assumed must be the body oil easing its movement and generating a heavy warmth between them. Michael tried to shift his hips so that his pants slid down his thighs a little and was rewarded when the right hand pulled his cock all the way out of his pants and the left slid down his body to come to rest on the inside curve of his thigh.

Letting his head roll back against the chair again, Michael groaned. “Oh god that feels good. It’s been so long, I swear I thought I was turning into a monk,” He laughed.

A light squeeze of fingers and the swipe of a thumb across the head of his cock and the laugh slid back into a groan. “Fuck... You keep doing that, I ain’t gonna last long sweetie,”

Nails digging into his thigh in time with the strokes, Michael tried not to thrust his hips up to follow the hand whenever it pulled away. “Jesus you’re good, and you smell so goddamn _edible_ ... You’re lucky I don’t have my hands free,”

“Shhh,” It was wordless and quiet, but it was the first thing Michael had heard in minutes, and the image of red lips over white teeth sent a spike of desire through him. He was still imagining those lips when something warm and wet wrapped around the head of his cock and sucked.

“Oooh, fuuuck,” Michael breathed. “Oh fuck yes. Don’t stop, god don’t stop,”

The mouth obliged, plunging deeper, tongue swirling around his shaft, rough lips coasting over his oil-slicked skin.

_Rough lips?_

The desperate, horny part of his brain – which at this point was very much in the majority – dismissed the thought and focused instead on the steady rhythm that was building up. The hand that was on his thigh roamed up and down as Michael panted, his skin flushed, arms shaking, the rope that bound his hands coming loose from his helpless, rocking movement. Michael flung his head back and grinned at the ceiling – the rope would have been nothing to undo if he’d really set his mind to it, but running with the setup was all part of the game. If the rope came undone on its own though... well that was just how it was meant to be.

The rhythm was faster now, deeper too until Michael felt as though he was engulfed sensation, his hips canting unconsciously upwards, into that wet heat. He arched his back again, arms straining at the failing rope until suddenly it was gone, pooling onto the seat behind him. He could feel himself near the edge, every barely-controlled half-thrust that little bit more intense until he knew he had moments left.

Rolling his shoulders forward he slid one hand to the silk scarf tied across his eyes and pulled it away...

...And there he was – not Red, not some anonymous stripper, but _Trevor_ – unstoppable, incorrigible Trevor, the dark mess of his hair like a halo around his head as he knelt, chest bare between Michael’s legs – one hand digging into Michael’s thigh, the other wrapped around the base of his cock. His broad shoulders were tanned and slick beneath the dim lights, the scent of peaches curling off his skin like perfume.

Michael groaned and wanted to close his eyes – to just pretend that didn’t know it was Trevor, that some part of him hadn’t really known since he’d felt that heavy hand wrapped like a promise around his neck, that rather than chasing away the waves of arousal he’d been feeling, the knowledge that it was _Trevor’s_ hands on his body, _Trevor’s_ mouth surrounding his desperately hard cock, turned those waves into fucking _tsunamis_.

 _This was a long time coming, T,_ he thought. _A long fucking time coming._

One hand raking though his own thick hair, Michael curled the other into the gaudy fabric of the chair, staring at Trevor’s bobbing head as he felt the first warning rush of his impending orgasm.

“I can’t, I... Oh, fuck... I’m gonna... Oh fuck, _Trevor_!” Michael threw both his hands around Trevor’s head, his fingers twisting through his friend’s hair as he came, his hips stuttering with the thwarted need to thrust deeper into Trevor’s mouth.

Trevor didn’t seem to notice the hands, or the words, taking as much of Michael as he could and swallowing him down effortlessly and without hesitation. Michael kept his fingers twined in Trevor’s hair, watching him beneath flickering eyelids as the aftershocks of his orgasm skittered through his body.

 _You’re gonna have to look up sometime, you crazy bastard_ , he thought.

One final suck and Trevor pulled away from Michael, head still bowed, tongue running the circuit of his lips, leaving them shining and wet in the glow of the lights. Michael let his hands fall to Trevor’s shoulders, holding them there firm and steady.

“T,”

Silence met him, along with the indelible image of Trevor – broad-shouldered, bare-chested and panting in front of him.

“Michael,” he eventually replied, eyes still glued to the floor, mouth set in a stubborn line.

Michael shook him until he finally looked up, his expression dark, teetering on the edge of something even darker.

“You taste as good as you smell?” Michael asked, quirking his lips.

A myriad of emotions stormed across Trevor’s face like a chaotic whirlwind, some Michael recognised, some he wished he didn’t. Eventually it settled on an expression that seemed to say, ‘you better not be laughing at me or you’ll end up in three separate oil barrels spread across Los Santos county’. “If you start calling me ‘Peaches’ or some shit like that I’ll come round to your house and shit in your pool,” he growled, ignoring the question.

Michael grimaced. “Nice... you suck dick with that mouth?”

“Not usually,” he replied quietly.

“Well,” Michael clapped him on the shoulder and then proceeded to tuck himself back into his pants. “If you ever want to give up your life of crime, you’ve got a fucking brilliant second career waiting for you, because damn if that wasn’t the best blow I’ve had in years... even if I did get tricked into it by a psychotic Canadian,”

Trevor growled. “Wouldn’t have had to if you weren’t so fucking repressed, _Michael_. At least _I_ know what I want and I fucking take it,”

Michael looked him steadily in the eye. “Yes, you do. And now we both know it,”

Trevor’s face shut down and he staggered to his feet. “Jesus, sugar tits! See, this... this is your problem – you over think things, fucking analyse Every. Single. Detail. Me?” He slapped his chest with both hands. “I fucking take action and then move the fuck on. You, you always gotta ask _why_ , and _what next_... learn to live in the fucking moment!”

“Pretty sure I just did,” muttered Michael as got out of the chair, doing up his belt once he stood. “Look, you’re right – this didn’t mean anything. We were drunk and horny and neither one of us have really gotten used to being friends – or whatever the fuck we are – again. In fact, fuck knows if we’ll even _remember_ this tomorrow morning. Just... let’s go back out there, find Franklin and call it a night, okay?”

Trevor was panting again, but now it was tense and baited – like an animal trapped in a cage. “You’ll fucking hate me in the morning,”

Michael sighed and resisted the urge to sling an arm across Trevor’s shoulders. “If I didn’t learn to hate you over the last twenty-five years, I doubt tomorrow’s gonna make all the difference,”

Trevor looked out towards the curtained door that led back into the club, fists clenched at his sides.

“Look, I’m going to go out there and grab me and the kid a cab, okay?” Michael said quietly. “I’ll text you tomorrow morning to make sure you’re not dead and remind you of the fact that I don’t hate you. I’m _terrified_ of you... but I don’t hate you,”

Trevor shrugged, shoving his hands violently into his pockets and turning away towards the changing rooms and his office at the back of the building. Michael shook his head and stalked towards the curtain. “Yeah, good night to you too, Trevor.”

 

*********************

 

If he didn’t move there was a very good chance that he might manage to not throw up all over the very expensive sheets that covered the bed in the guest room. The light was dim, but what Michael really needed thank you very much, was complete and utter blackness.

The trigger of a memory – black satin and the phantom smell of peaches, had Michael running for the bathroom.

 

*********************

 

Five tablets later and a giant glass of water and Michael felt strong enough for basic communication. Pulling out his phone he could see that once again, he had absolutely no messages. _Par for the fucking course, really,_ he thought. _The only time people remember me is when they want something_.

He stabbed at his contacts list until he found Trevor’s number.

_Hey, T_

_Here’s hoping you’re not dead underneath an overpass or something. I am hung-over, with the smell of peaches in my fucking nostrils, and I Do. Not. Fucking. Hate you._

_I keep my promises,_

_M._

_Oh, by the way – I know you never answered my question last night, but I’m willing to bet that the answer is you do._

_Oh yes, you do._


End file.
